Free
by snowylavendermist
Summary: Post FE 8. A person should never be made to suffer from heavy shackles of love, but Marisa is. Unwaveringly loyal to Joshua, she laments a one-sided romance. Unveiling Marisa's inner world. JoshuaxNatasha, one-sided MarisaxJoshua


**Free**

* * *

She did not like balls. Neither did she attend them as a general rule.

People swarmed around her incessantly, some slightly drunk, others on the brink of intoxication, the rest already in a blind stupor.

She disliked the swishing long skirts made of rustling fabric. They announced their presence wherever they went. What good would that do to increase their chances of survival in this chaotic world? Furthermore, the waist-pinching corsets worn underneath the thin fabric made it difficult for their owners to even breathe, let alone draw a weapon. Not to mention the tiny glass slippers that threatened to trip their wearers with every step…the heavy jewellery that slowed down their wearers' speed and agility…the plunging necklines that revealed of the jugular vein than it is safe to do so…

Did they know that she still had her shamshir with her right now? The slight weight of her trusty dagger in its sheath around her belt was a comforting thought. Neither was she dressed in one of those ridiculous swishing pieces of garments that those of the fair sex so adore. At least she had the common sense to sport something light and decent like a normal skirt paired with boots and a shirt. If anyone tried to kill _her_, they would only succeed the day the moon shines pink in an orange night sky.

But…maybe her unwillingness to dress herself up was the main reason why he fell in love with Natasha instead of with her. She looked up involuntarily at the couple sitting on the throne.

He had shed his swordmaster apparel ever since he ascended the throne. Everyday, when she saw him walking around the palace, he was dressed in long imperial robes. Today, on the day of his coronation and announcement of engagement, his servants had clothed him in a dark ceremonial robes with a golden fur lining. He was surveying the scene of the celebration and smiling.

Next to him, Natasha was dressed in white, as usual. Her thick blonde hair fell over shoulders elegantly. A pearl choker gleamed on her white porcelain throne. She was smiling beside him, a natural air of regality and grace perfuming the sir around her. From the number of people who went up and prostrated themselves in front of her, it was evident that she had already charmed the entire of Jehanna and the people loved her as their future queen.

What could she say to this arrangement? Voice her protests? Stage a petition? Threaten to resign? She was merely a lowly assassin of mercenary birth. Blood from countless innocent souls stained her hands, but that was the only way to survive for her. The living that she had always depended on, which made good money, was by selling her services as an assassin. She did not know who her victims were, what they did, or why she was commissioned the hefty fee to slit their throats. She was a mercenary. She killed for money.

Only when she met him, did she realize that the blade was not everything. He taught her the arts of mankind, star gazing at constellations, appreciation of arts and music, philosophy and other observations of the human nature... The time during which she had known him was the happiest moments in her life, and yet…

The day he announced his wish to marry Natasha in front of the entire contingent, she had clearly heard something within her break. Everyone was clapping, so she followed them mutely, deaf to the cheers and catcalls from all corners of the army. Her face was a mask, constricted so tightly with emotion that it carried the blankest look she had ever displayed.

She loved him so truly, so deeply. Yet, he chose to marry a nearly nondescript girl of no outstanding skill or talent, only a lovely face. That instant, she felt betrayed and bitter. The fantasies that raged within her head were so vivid that she could almost feel Natasha's wet blood on her fingers.

However, after a few months, she forced herself to admit that it was her fault. By loving another, she was weak. Her weakness made her vulnerable. That was the reason why she messed up so badly in her battle was Lyon. If she were not weak, she would have killed off the dark druid in a single swipe.

* * *

She had been eyeing the manservant standing next to the table for a long time. He was fidgety and clumsy, yet he had stated that he had served Queen Ismaire for 5 years before King Joshua's coronation. Kind of an oxymoron, if you asked her.

"Marisa! There you are!" Joshua walked towards her stately, positively beaming. "You honour me with your presence, Marisa. I had thought that you would mysteriously disappear as you had done that night at Prince Innez and Vanessa's ball."

"It was a matter of urgency, milord," she bowed low as she spoke. She still could not bring herself to look at him as she spoke. Her heart did not have to go through the agony of being forcibly broken and mended again. "That was the reason why I had left prior to the ball."

He shrugged – an old habit. "Well, but times change, don't they?" His voice dropped to a whisper so that only the two of them could hear. "Tomorrow, I will meet the spy intelligence network in the morning at six. The venue will be the throne room. I expect you, as their head, to convey the message to all of them so that everyone will be present. Is that possible?"

She bowed again. Again, she was reminded of their relationship – master and servant.

"Thank you, Marisa," Joshua's smile was back. "I hope you enjoy the ball. Natasha is beautiful, no?"

She could not find any words to reply him, only stared at his back as he left to hold his wife's hand.

From the corner of the eye, she could see the manservant starting to twiddle his thumbs.

Something was wrong.

* * *

The manservant was irrationally nervous. A barely visible lump budged from within his sleeve. He was fingering that irregularly shaped bulge incessantly, as though it burned him.

No one else had noticed anything. Gentlemen led their dance partners in circles, twirling them around the marble floor. Lines of ladies sat on the chairs all around, conversing with their faces hidden behind elaborate fans. Several horizontally advantaged people were still guzzling on the food overflowing from the buffet table, though dinner was supposed to have ended three hours ago. Joshua and Natasha themselves were engrossed in a friendly banter with Lady Eirika and her new husband, Seth, who were both honoured guests.

No one else noticed the peculiarity in the manservant's actions, the oddity in his half-frightened expression.

Their eyes met for a second, purple to brown. He quickly looked away, not wanting anymore eye contact. His fingers danced around the bulge faster. He tried to turn away, but evidently his gaze was on the clock fixedly.

One minute to twelve midnight. What was this, a Cinderella fairytale?

Her breathing rate increased and she took shorter breaths. His chest was rising up and down at a quicker rate.

The long white fingers played at the lump faster, till he almost resembled a harpist plucking at the stings.

30 seconds…10 seconds…5…4…3…2…1…

The clock struck twelve midnight with a loud chime. The echo swept through the room, followed by the sound of smashing glass.

The music stopped, everyone turned. The manservant had knocked over the entire table of wine glasses and was sprinting towards the door.

Only that he was not heading for the door.

"No!" She sprang towards him, hand on the hilt of her shamshir.

He looked at her as he ran. There was a twisted smile dangling on his pale lips. He was a step ahead of her. She would never get there in time to stop him. Knocking down people too shocked, too drunk or too confined by their garments to react, he reached into his sleeve and drew out what confirmed her worst suspicions.

King Joshua gasped audibly, as did many others. The presence of a dagger in the banquet hall when they were not protected with any weapons or armour finally seemed to show them how foolish they were to have left their weapons behind. Yet, months of living in a state of luxury had reduced their alertness to nearly non-existence. None of them budged an inch.

Not that it made a difference. They would never be fast enough. The man was desperate. He did not care to live after his mission. He just wanted Joshua dead. The desperation gave him the speed and motivation that none could of them could achieve.

His hand lifted. The slash of silver was well reflected upon in the cold light of the chandelier. There was victory written in his countenance, in every scar, on every line. He knew he was going to succeed. King Joshua's death would be imminent by his hand. She was too late to force him into an assassin' duel, which might have allowed to King Joshua to escape with his life.

The blade swung high above his hand as he prepared for the full force of the blade to shatter upon the King's body.

There was only one thing left to do…

As a loyal servant…

There was a spurt of crimson blood.

She was collapsing, falling down lower and lower, until finally her head touched the floor. There was no need for her to look down and see. She knew she was bleeding profusely from the wound in her chest. She could feel the blade still wedged between two bones of her ribcage, one of them broken by the force of the stab.

But she also knew, that the assailant was lying on the floor, bleeding from the gaping wound in his abdomen that her shamshir had made.

She felt herself gathered up in someone's arms, her head raised from the floor. Distantly, she heard someone shout her name over and over again over the roaring of blood pounding in her ears.

Willing herself to take one last look at the world she knew so well but would have to leave, she opened her eyes. Joshua's face slid in and out of focus fuzzily. He was shouting for the healers to get their staffs, reassuring her that she was going to be okay.

If she had the slightest bit of strength left in her, she would have told him to spare the healers. There was nothing anyone can do for her anymore.

She just wanted to see him one last time.

"Joshua…" Every breath that she took hurt, as though more knives were slicing through her skin. "I…still…owe you…a…forfeit…"

"Marisa! No, you must not say such thing! You'll live and be well again. You promised to remain with me at Jehanna." His voice became a mangled sob.

Was he crying? Don't cry, Joshua. "I'm…tired…" she managed to say. Her eyelids were closing. Once they closed, they would never open again. She was cold and tired. It all felt like the start of a deep slumber.

"Marisa…" He was shaking her in his arms, nearly delirious. "You can't…you promised…"

"Remind me…to…repay…your…for…feit…" She knew it was time to let go. The pain was almost gone. In a second, she would truly be gone.

Free.

* * *

Once upon a time, a young assassin fell in love with her companion.

Once upon a time, a young assassin became a spy for her companion, who became her master.

Once upon a time, a young assassin sacrificed herself for her master, whom she loved.

One day, the young assassin will meet her master again.

One day, she will repay the debt she owed.

One day, she will be free.

* * *

**Hi everybody, this is snowylavendermist. This is my first attempt at FE FF again after a long hectic time period. I do hope I haven't lost my touch. **

**Pls review and give comments. Thanks for reading this. :)**

* * *


End file.
